I'm Hana ♡ All my works are 18+ so minors, don't interact with my posts.
I mostly write dom!reader fics with a female pov, focusing on kpop (blackpink) and manga/anime (jujutsu kaisen, chainsaw man, etc.). I am NOT accepting requests anymore but you may send suggestions if you like (no promises, though).
Don't copy my work, seriously. This includes modifying them with different characters, translating the entire content, and posting them to another site. I'll be forced to delete all my fics and proceed with legal action. Just read them and enjoy ♡
masterlist for dom!reader
DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORK IN THE LIST. THEY ARE ONLY AVAILABLE ON TUMBLR. PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY IF YOU HAVE READ THEM ON ANOTHER WEBSITE.
"gojo's service to an artist" was modified, stolen, and posted in ao3. read here.
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header: Gokurakugai Sanbandori no Ken by Sana Yuto
#🍙rec for recommendations (authors, manga, fics, etc.)
warnings: dom!reader, sub!megumi, pegging, corruption kink, colleague au
word count: 1k words
summary: megumi knows there's a line he couldn't—shouldn't cross. you're his superior for fuck's sake. he can't just ask you out on a date and then steal a kiss or two. not unless...you take the initiative. unfortunately for him, you make sure it's him who breaks.
a/n: anon's request is simple, okay? but i like plot with my porn so i come back with this filth. i hope this satisfies your itch, anon. (also i wrote this for like 2 hours without proofreading, so excuse my mistakes and typos)
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DO NOT COPY THIS WORK. THIS IS ONLY AVAILABLE ON TUMBLR. PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY IF YOU HAVE READ THIS ON ANOTHER WEBSITE.
There's a hunger in you that settles deep within your stomach. It stays quiet, lurking beneath your calm demeanor. You watch as Megumi downs his first drink of the night, wincing before his eyes dart around the bar. It's rare to see him like this, nervous and indecisive.
An image pops in your mind and your tongue finds its way to the roof of your mouth. You can take him home tonight, straight to your bed. Hands on his solid chest. Fingers on his jaw, gripping it so you can watch his dark blue eyes flutter close as your other hand lowers to where he wants it the most. But you would stop him and he would open his eyes in confusion like he made the wrong calculations about you. Oh, you could ruin him. You could turn him into something despicable that he would rather choose to rot in your bed than go back to this suffocating distance between you.
But for men like Megumi, it's crucial that he's the one who crosses the line.
“It's rare for the Fushiguro Megumi to ask anyone on a date,” you start.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “This is not a date.”
“No? What is this then?”
“I told you. I just...I need a breather. And everyone on the team knows you know your alcohol.”
You let out a light chuckle before eyeing your glass of whiskey on the rocks before you. The ice glistens as it slowly melts, diluting your choice of poison. A moment of silence graces over the two of you. At the end of the bar, you watch as a cue ball slowly rolls toward another ball until it falls into a pocket. You can take this slow—agonizingly slow but one that ends with a sure win. Or you can catalyze his own fall.
He must have taken your silence as discomfort because he speaks as your mouth opens.
“And, well, because I think you deserve some sort of celebration. For winning us the deal yesterday.”
Your eyebrow raises at this before a sly smile makes its way to your red lips, which his eyes zeroed in. “Oh? I didn’t know my Megumi could be so thoughtful.”
He turns his face the other way as his ears redden. You aren’t sure what made him blush. The praise or the possessiveness in your tone.
“Nah, I just think that you treat us well as our team manager.” Megumi thinks he needs to foreground his interest somehow so he adds, “Especially me. A-As an intern, I mean. I would like to thank you for that.”
Oh. Oh. He knows his invitation for drinks is inappropriate. You’re his supervisor; there is a power imbalance. And yet…and yet, he tries to push this boundary albeit so, so lightly.
A small side of you scoffs at this thought. Megumi is not just kind. He is smart. He isn’t someone who just gives his gratitude to anyone, which means he weaponizes his words. He is a conniving little shit, you thought.
Your smile turns into a grin, teeth clash as your hunger becomes more prominent. Your belly aches and you push your thighs together for some relief.
He turns back to look at you shyly under his long eyelashes. But when he sees the glint in your eye, he takes a sharp breath, eyes widening.
“Oh, Megumi,” you say as your voice deepens.
You’re aware of the way he looks at you. He’s not as subtle as he thinks. When you hold meetings, you would catch him staring at your thighs, just below your pencil skirt. When you pass him in the hallways of your workplace, he would breathe in deeply, pathetically. So when he intercepted you on your way out of the office and asked you out for drinks, you know he plans to act on his yearning.
You lean into your left, closer to his face. Your touch doesn’t reach him but your breath kisses his cheek lightly and he stills like a prey hiding—praying to be spared.
He bites his lower lip. Staring at you with wide doe eyes. An expression so foreign, so alien from his apathetic nature. There he is, Fushiguro Megumi — a reliable intern known for his aloof and calculative personality and strict compliance to rules, waiting, begging for you to make a move.
But oh, no. No, no, no. You’re not the one to cross this line.
You know men like Megumi want to be challenged. He is someone who makes careful calculations after all. Perhaps he thought that he could end this night with a blush and a kiss and a hope for another date after paying for both your drinks and food.
You just need to break his expectations. One more tug and he would bite the snare, fall for it — hook, line, and sinker.
So you provide him a good bait. You whisper with all the tenderness you can give, “I take good care of all my pets.”
Something changes in his eyes. His eyebrows furrow, eyes frantically searching for something in your own. Then like a raging storm, he calms down, expressions melting. Excitement fills your chest. He makes a decision in his head. His mouth parts slightly and his eyelids droop.
Your food arrives on your table. But none of you noticed. Not when he exhales shakily. Not when he lowers his head, baring his neck to you. And not when he slides a hand to your black stockings-covered thigh.
A wicked smile returns to your lips.
You raise a hand, catching the attention of a nearby waiter.
“We changed our minds,” you say, eyes never straying from Megumi’s cold fingers clasped into your thigh. An inch shorter to the end of your skirt. “I’ll have this order to go, instead.”
As the waiter takes away your food, you let your fingers dance on top of his head. The slightest touch, almost like a wind caressing him. When he shudders, you thought, oh, this is going to be fun.
I'm a straight man, pretty much always been dominant, but I've gotten more curious about what it would be like to have a woman take charge, either overpowering me or some other way (blackmail or somehow she's in authority). So you're feeding my growing interest...
well well well 😌 welcome to femdom, i do like the idea of blackmail… in my next fic, perhaps?
hey y’all i’m alive!! and i’m back 😌 got so busy with uni and my thesis but i’m finally graduating this yr (yay)! hopefully i can write another fic for all of you, my pretty (and nasty 😏) readers, asap
in the meantime, i’ll be responding to the submissions in my inbox
send me more! or a message!!
also, i’ll work on the requests (slowly bc i’m mean like that)
(and holy shit 5.7k notes on “gojo’s service to an artist”??? damn, tysm!!)
Roughly grab their chin, force them to look you into your eyes and ask them embarrassing questions and make them admit to embarrassing kinks until they’re flustered and blushing, close to crying because it’s so hot and it makes them so needy and horny but at the same time they’re so ashamed.
